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[RIGHT][color=afa3f5][sub]Tuesday, April 15th / Early Hours[/sub][/color][/RIGHT][hr][RIGHT][color=afa3f5][sup]13th Mourningdove Lane[/sup][/color][/RIGHT]

If not for the barrage of questions and insults being hurled around her, Emmy's stomach would have been fluttering with butterflies thanks to Happy's wink.

Instead a dull ache formed at the back of her head.

Finally, their enigmatic host began to speak before more variations of the same questions could be asked. Though the way he looked at them now unsettled her. Emmy couldn't tell if it was hate or something worse. Her body tensed, those dark green eyes followed the moment of his hand as it caressed the silver at his fingertips. Like he was a predator surveying his prey.

Her assumption couldn't have been more astute.

What he was saying... it was all the information Emmy could have wished for, and much more than she would have expected. She didn't fully register it until he spoke of children's bedtime stories. Her mind flickered back to those nights with her mother, of the fables that had been read to her.

To know that the stories she'd heard as a child were true, it made her wonder if her mother had known all along. Perhaps her ancestors had passed them down as a cautionary tale. Or maybe... maybe this man's ancestors had wiped out those of her bloodline that once possessed it.

[i]Witch Hunters.[/i]

Emmy's head throbbed. She wobbled subtly where she stood. Either the world was shifting beneath her feet at the thought or the headache was messing with her balance.

She tried her best to regain her composure, but the more the Archivist said the more she realized the danger that magic had brought into her life. She was beginning to understand the irony that this man, with his history of murder and hate, had been gifted with what his ancestors eradicated from their world.

Her head swam as it turned to look at Lena, jaw slackening as their host announced the fiery woman as the Witch Hunters first victim. 

They were already in town. They were already seeking out mages, those who's abilities were far more obvious than the rest. Lena was a target, and Emmy looked around the room as she wondered who else may have drawn their attention. Her eyes rested on Khushwant next to her and a pang of worry for him accompanied the next throb that drew her gloved hand to her temple.

Emmy turned forwards again and attempted to hide the gesture by brushing her hair back from her face.

She sighed softly as she listened to Lena's fantasy of escape. If their host had spoken of a townhouse at the top of the hill instead of a cabin, Emmy would have been thinking the same thing. Run, run far and as fast as she could. Ensure that her father wasn't caught in the pyre that would become her home if she stayed. Emmy didn't blame her for wanting to flee...

and yet...

[color=7B68EE]"They're everywhere, aren't they?"[/color] She asked as the Frenchman's rantings finished. Her voice was low, just an exhale away from exhaustion, and yet it carried a quiet strength to it that demanded an answer. [color=7B68EE]"Running wouldn't make a difference. They won't let us live, even if we choose not to use the magic."[/color]

Emmy took a breath then, and stuck her chin out as she squared her shoulders. Her eyes met with The Archivist's cold gaze. [color=7B68EE]"How do we learn to control it? How do we keep them from finding us?"[/color]

How could she keep her father safe, from both the ones who would want her dead, and from herself with this new, unstable power?

If their fates were truly intertwined with this man, then how could they all benefit from the help of someone who knew all their could be to know about the ones who sought to put them on a pyre?